


where we marked forever

by greenbriars



Category: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-17 13:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18099203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenbriars/pseuds/greenbriars
Summary: In exile, Jude finds herself living her best life. The High King pays her three visits.





	where we marked forever

_It’s not fair, the pressure up here could be killing me._

 

* 

Months into her exile, Jude finds that she has settled into some kind of routine. Every day, she wakes at three in the afternoon—early for the Folk—and picks Oak up from school. She likes to take him to the wooded area outside their apartment complex to drill him on sword-fighting; on hot days, they go swimming at the public pool. She keeps a keen eye on him and never lets him near any foreign bodies of water because she has not forgotten the threat of the Undersea, but she imagines it can only benefit Oak to be a strong swimmer.

They walk home together just as the sun is setting, while Oak chatters on about his day and swings their entwined hands. Sometimes she picks him up—he is getting almost too big for that—and spins him around, holds him close, breathes in his sweet, milky scent. His hair is soft and his little horns tickle her nose.

Usually Vivi is cooking, if she’s home from her shift, and the apartment smells of warm food. Mortal food, which is artificial and entirely odd. It is somehow both too rich and too bland. Jude adores it because it doesn’t remind her of Elfhame. Too many things still do.

After Oak takes a bath, Vivi and Jude take turns reading him a bedtime story. Sometimes they watch a cartoon instead, until he dozes off in the flickering light of the screen.

This is when Jude’s day properly begins. She does breathing exercises, then heads into the woods for a run and some sword-fighting practice. Under the watery moonlight, the stars mostly hidden by the pollution, Jude allows herself to feel safe and calm for the first time in years.

The solitary fey leave her alone, but she knows they whisper about her.

She heads home when the constellation of Orion is high in the sky, face flushed and mind clear. She has spies still in Elfhame; sorting through the intelligence reports always takes some time. The first full moon of her exile, the Bomb had come to visit her. Jude tells her about the Ghost turning traitor, and together they have been scheming to bring him down. Every few weeks, she and the Roach stop by for some gossip and extra-strong coffee.

They leave just before daybreak, and then Jude crawls into bed and pulls the covers to her chin. Some mornings she tosses and turns for hours, thinking about bringing down the Ghost, bringing down Orlagh. She thinks about treacherous Taryn and her marriage to that bastard Locke, Taryn throwing in her lot with Madoc, her family moving to overthrow the High King.

The High King. Cardan.

That’s usually her cue to pop a sleeping pill and pass out.

But by and large, Jude has come to realize that she is, if not _happy_ , at least content here. She really is. Her purpose in the mortal world is easy and uncomplicated. The days have a simple shape. She enjoys the absence of people trying to bring about her downfall. Her biggest worry this week is helping Vivi stage an elaborate public apology to Heather (which, personally, she thinks is foolish, insincere and ineffective). Her only job is to protect Oak and Vivi, and make sure both are well-fed and healthy. She still plans and plots, but that part of her life is starting to feel increasingly distant. Some days, she thinks that perhaps she wouldn’t mind at all if Madoc and Taryn destroyed Cardan and Orlagh and Nicasia. As long as Oak was safe, she thinks this wouldn’t be such a bad life at all.

Alas.

*

The first time Cardan sends for her, Jude opens the door to a hob standing on the doorstep of the apartment she shares with Vivi, mid-way through a series of hard knocks. 

“Your Highness,” the hob says, bowing so low his hooked nose almost touches the ground. “The King requires your presence.”

Jude stares at the top of his green head in disbelief. She waits for the usual surge of anger, but somehow it doesn’t come.

“Hmm,” she says, placing on hand on her chin as though deep in thought. “I think not.” She shuts the door on him, and goes back to her swordfighting drills.

* 

Moon In A Cup is a cosy little café downtown. The first time Jude goes there, squinting up at the road signs to make sure she got the address right, she is careful to bring a peace offering, and Kaye grants her an audience.

Within five minutes, Jude has confessed her status as an exiled queen, and Kaye—clever, independent, wonderful Kaye—is sympathetic. She can offer nothing more than advice, but advice is just what Jude needs.

She also promises, in a very human way, to help Jude wherever she can. Sometimes it is simple things, like where to buy mortal clothes of good quality; and sometimes it is more complicated things: how to use a cellphone, how to open a bank account, how to recover when the High King of Faerie banishes you less than a day after your marriage.

Some afternoons, if she wakes up early and Oak is still at school, she likes to help out behind the counter. She has a good head for numbers, and the rich, dark smell of roasting coffee beans is very grounding.

* 

The second time, Cardan comes personally. “Jude—“ he begins, and a trace of the old anger licks up her throat, and she slams the door in his face and feels something close to satisfaction.

* 

When she was first exiled, Jude had spent weeks burrowing into the couch, watching cartoons and binge-eating mint choc chip ice cream, until finally, her big sister had put her foot down and told her to get her act together.

In all fairness, Jude was becoming pretty sick of moping about.

Kaye comes through with a pamphlet advertising a job opening that had caught her eye earlier in the week. The studio is in a strange part of the town, not quite the right side of the tracks. The women who come to her are defiant, cynical, frightened.

She gets that.

It isn’t at all like training to become a knight, but the feeling of sweat dripping down her entire body is familiar. The aches in her feet and calves makes her feel alive again. Her body is hers and she trusts it.

She sends them home different, with their eyes flashing and their teeth sharpened.

This is important work.

* 

The next time, he doesn’t bother knocking. Vivi will be home late today, and Jude is making spaghetti bolognese in a saucepan for Oak when, out of the corner of her eye, she catches a glimmer in the reflection in the glass above the stove. A decade of training kicks in. Instantly, she is lowering herself into a crouch and sweeping her leg out and shoving with all her might.

The High King of Elfhame crumples to the ground.

Jude curses but doesn’t make a move to help him up. She turns off the stove and backs away from him while he recovers. She pulls a knife from the chopping board; its blade serrates the air.

He groans.

“You shouldn’t have snuck up on me like that,” she says, matter-of-fact. He is wearing a simple black shirt, laced over his chest in a way that Jude hates herself for finding handsome, and black riding breeches. His cloak of raven feathers drapes majestically over his broad shoulders. Resting atop his silky curls is his crown.

He looks up at her, and she finds it offensive that he is still so beautiful. His brow is regal, his cheekbones are high, his ears are graceful. His nose is bleeding a little. His eyes are locked onto the ruby ring on her finger, and they are alight with something akin to hunger. For the first time in almost a year she feels that sharp-edged thing in her chest grow teeth and claws. She has to resist the urge to hide her hand behind her back.

“Well, I hope you got that out of your system,” he says archly.

And, to both their surprise, she laughs. “Not even close. What do you want?”

“Come back to Faerie, Jude.”

“Hmm." She turns back to the stove, feigning nonchalance, but her heart is hammering in her throat. The past creeps up behind her, so close she can almost taste blood in her mouth. Her chest tightens like a fist. Her knife switches hands as she opens a drawer to get a wooden spoon to taste the bolognese sauce, bumps it shut with her hip. “What for?”

“Your people need you," he pleads, getting to his feet.

She laughs again, a little weakly. “I think if they lasted a whole year without me, they can handle themselves. Besides, they have you.”

“Jude, please.” She can see his frown in the reflection. “You don’t understand. There are rumours that Madoc and Orlagh have formed a secret alliance and plan to move again me. The Court of Shadows is investigating as we speak, but it is unlikely that we can hold Elfhame without you, much less defeat them. There will be much bloodshed.”

She shrugs. “So what? Destroy each other, for all I care. Faerie has only taught me heartache.”

“It is your home.”

“So is the mortal world, and, I must say, I’m starting to really like it here. It’s quite a pleasant change of pace to have people lie to your face as opposed to behind your back.”

“Please,” he says again, which is unlike him. He moves closer to her, possessing, and Jude tenses. She can feel the heat of him against her back, and her foolish body reacts to it, becomes aware and desirous. “Every good decision I made when you were kidnapped, and every good decision since, I have made only because I could imagine you making them.”

She catches his gaze in the reflection before it darts away. He visibly swallows. “I will confess that it has been a… trying… time, without you. For all I resented having you command me, I find myself missing your advice. You were… a worthy seneschal. A good ally.”

This speech is more praise than Jude has received all her life. Truly, it deserves applause. Jude turns to regard him, her gaze calculating. The air is electric with anticipation.

Their bodies are far too close.

 “I’d ask you to stay for dinner, but I’m afraid I only made enough for three. Please see yourself out.”

 When she turns around again, he is gone.

* 

The third time barely counts. Jude stumbles home, drunk and delighted. The music at the club had kept up a throbbing bass the entire time, and even now, she swears she can feel her whole body thrumming to that imaginary sound. 

_Oh, won’t you stay for a while?_

She didn’t know a single song being played but she had yelled along with the crowd. The press of innocent, inferior mortal bodies, bodies just like hers, had filled her with an feral, unnamable emotion. Here, no one can see her. No one can judge her. Her body can move in a way both uncoordinated and unrestrained. She suspects it is _belonging._

_I’ll take you on a ride if you can keep a secret._

It takes her four tries to get the key into the lock, but she manages eventually. She staggers into the living room, and stands still for just long enough to soak in the sound of Vivi's soft snores and Oak’s softer breathing in the next room. She toes off her boots and walks to the shared bathroom, peeling her dress off as she goes.

She leaves the door open while she brushes her teeth and washes her face. (Outside of Faerie, one has no choice but to start taking care of one’s personal hygiene.) She flips the light switch off and flings herself onto her bed. 

It dips unnaturally, and Jude barely registers the unfamiliar warmth at her back before her body is reacting. In one swift move, she has drawn her dagger out from beneath her pillow and pressed it against the stranger’s jugular.

The stranger coughs dryly.

Jude would know that voice _anywhere._

“Cardan!” she hisses. “This is wildly inappropriate.”

Her eyes adjust to the darkness just in time to see him yawn widely, like a lion. He is in a pale silk shirt that glows faintly in the dim light. One collarbone juts out in a way that makes desire like cut glass rest dangerously in her throat. “I got tired waiting for you.”

“I told you, I am not going back.”

Cardan’s eyes glitter. “What will it take to convince you, Jude? The possibility of bloodshed didn’t work. What about the fact that everything you worked for might come to nothing? Elfhame torn apart in civil war, your little brother forced to sit on the throne as a puppet. You can’t protect him forever.”

Jude is silent.

“And the mortal world you claim to love so much will certainly feel the effects of it. Have you considered that, Jude? They might not see us, but we see them. What do you think will happen when the Courts are not held in check? When the solitary fey have no one left to answer to? 

Heedless of the blade at his throat, he grips her arm. A shock like a bolt of lightning runs through her. This close, she can see the gold rims of his irises, the soft curl of his upper lip. This close, with her head still spinning and the ceiling going liquid, Jude feels greedy for his touch. 

“Jude, I made a mistake exiling you. I thought to protect you. And I admit I was furious about Balekin’s murder.”

“He made me kiss him,” Jude blurts out, like a fool.

There is a long pause. 

“I forgive you. But listen; I was angry. More secrets, more deaths. I thought your exile would appease Orlagh, but it appears there is no appeasing that—how do the mortals say it?—psycho bitch.”

She emits a weak chuckle.

“Please. Your people need you. _I_ need you.”

Well. If those weren’t the exact words she had wanted to hear for months.

But her life is _here_. All of a sudden, she has a vivid image of herself and Vivi from a month ago lying on this very bed, fresh from the shower, the both of them with face masks slathered on thickly. Hers had smelled minty and earthy, like clay, which had filled her with such a brimming sense of nostalgia it felt like it would spill out of her. Oak had some on his face too, but then he got bored and scrubbed it off with the back of his arm, and now he was crawling between their prone forms brandishing a bottle the size of his fist, threatening to get glitter polish everywhere as he painted their nails. The overhead fan was whirring softly, and the night air was cool against her damp scalp, her bare arms, her iridescent nails.

She flops onto her back with a huff. Her head is spinning. She needs to rest.

“Jude.”

“Shut up.”

“At least stop pointing your knife at me.”

“Good idea.” She stabs the mattress, the blade catching the fine fabric of his sleeve and holding him there. She doesn’t even bother opening her eyes, but she imagines his incredulous blink. All these thoughts can wait till tomorrow, she thinks, curling up on her side.

Right before she sinks into sleep she feels his other arm slip tentatively around her waist, mindful of the knife between them. Then he is pulling her close, his breath on her shoulder, his knees tucked up behind hers. "I missed you," whispers the wind through the open window. And then she is asleep.

* 

Jude wakes up to an empty bed in the early afternoon, and barely has time to feel regret before she hears two voices— _two_ —downstairs in the kitchen.

She’s stumbling out of bed and down the hallway before she even realizes she’s in her underwear.

“Uh,” she stammers, going pink beneath two pairs of eyes, one cat-like, one coolly arrogant and black as pitch. She infers from their postures that they are in the middle of what is _possibly_ an argument. Cardan looks deceptively ordinary in a black metal t-shirt that Jude recognises from her wardrobe. It is stretched appealingly tight over his shoulders.

His eyes are dark with amused interest. She scurries back to her room to throw on a pullover and some running shorts (after sniffing them first). 

When she’s back in the kitchen and seated, Vivi sets a plate of chocolate chip pancakes before her, and she starts inhaling them. Vivi informs them she is going to pick Oak from school, and then she gives Jude a meaningful look, like she knows Jude has already made up her mind. And then she’s picking up her tote bag and making a hasty exit.

Then it’s just Jude and Cardan.

It’s such a surreal scene, the High King of Faerie sitting on a high stool in her tiny, sunlit kitchen. The walls are bright yellow and the light is pouring in through the open windows and in here it smells of butter and coffee and chocolate.

He’s still wearing his crown.

He's taking a sip of coffee from a mug with a hairline crack running all the way down the side.

“Have you thought more about—"

“Cardan,” she interrupts, impulsively reaching forward to place her hand on his cheek. He goes utterly still, his eyes fluttering shut, and he presses what is unmistakably a kiss onto her open palm.

Blushing furiously, seeking to break the moment, she reaches over with her other hand and tips what’s left of his coffee down his shirt. 

“Jude!” he exclaims, leaping up. It isn’t hot coffee, but his expression is still scandalized and thoroughly put out.

She swallows her laugh, murmuring, “Wow, you really do need me.”

He's swiping at his shirt, scowling at her; then he registers her words and his eyes become intense and fever-bright.

“Do you mean what I think you mean?” He has gone completely still again, the wet stain on his shirt forgotten.

“Well,” she says, feeling almost shy. “I have been thinking that I do miss putting my life in danger every other day.”

To her shock, Cardan gets down on one knee. He somehow manages to look regal and put-together even in a soaking t-shirt and ripped jeans, every inch a High King, slumming it ironside. He gazes up at her, looking fierce and determined.

“My lady. My Queen.” He takes her hand and kisses the ring, and then turns it over and kisses her palm, her wrist.   

"On one condition." 

Cardan tries and somewhat fails to keep the suspicion and resignation off his face. 

"Oak must be kept safe. That is my highest priority. Nothing can happen to him or Vivi." 

She has an almost hysterical urge to laugh when she sees his sigh of relief, his mouth setting into grim resolve. "You have my word I will do everything within my power to ensure this. My lady, you honor me. I swear I will not disappoint you.”

Looking down at their clasped hands, his sweet whorl of hair, Jude feels something hot and wild and joyful crack open in her chest. Her mind is afire with plans, a mental labyrinth of strings to pull.

Nightfell is hanging in her closet. Her poisons are squirrelled away in a locked desk drawer. Her knives are, respectively, under her pillow, on a thigh holster hanging off her bedframe, taped beneath the kitchen sink, and balanced above the doorframe.

And she will need a new dress made for her coronation. (Perhaps she isn’t so against public apologies after all.)

**Author's Note:**

> Title of the fic is from the song of the same name by cehryl.


End file.
